Just a flesh wound
by RedHatMeg
Summary: Bruce Wayne realizes that his faithful butler was injured during the attack of assassins on Wayne Manor. He wants to discuss it with Alfred. Post 1x10. Now a multi-chapter.
1. Just a flesh wound

**I wanted to write something regarding the events in _Lovecraft_, in particular - Bruce Wayne realizing that Alfred got injured. Originally, the kid was going to actually see blooded shirt of his butler, but I decided that it would be better, if he wouldn't (especially, because I had a really stupid idea as to how the characters would got to that part).**

**I'm not very happy with this story. I probably even made Bruce a bit OOC. But, on the other hand, it's not the worst thing I've ever written XD.**

**Just a flesh wound**

Coming home after such eventful day was both refreshing and kind of awkward to say at least. After all, not every day Bruce was forced to escape Wayne Manor because of assassins sent to kill his guess and then – run away the streets of Gotham. Also not every day he was threatened with gun… And all of this while being constantly worried over Alfred, who stayed in Wayne Manor to fight with assassins. During his run with Selina Bruce wasn't entirely sure if his butler was still alive. Yeah, right, he was a skillful fighter, a former marine and even a great fencer… but still the assassins could be much more skillful fighters than Alfred. And have a lot better weapons at their side than him.

Bruce had a lot on his head, either way. He and Selina had to hide from people, who wanted to kill her and Selina believed that the best way to do it, was to disappear in the crowd. That meant, they couldn't inform neither Alfred, nor detective Gordon, where they were. Selina directed him through the parts of Gotham he didn't know – a parts filled with homeless children and criminals. Bruce had to put his trust in others. He had to trust that Selina knew what she was doing. He had to trust that detective Gordon and his partner will be able to track them down and render the assassins harmless. He had to trust that Alfred survived the attack and was okay.

The thought he might not be okay was constantly coming to the boy in moments of halt – when he and Selina lost the assassins, when he found the phone, when he was changing his clothes, when he was walking with Selina in the underground market… Bruce tried to rationalize with his own brain, just to shoo this thought away, but he couldn't help the feeling of dread and coldness accompanying the notion that maybe Alfred… that Alfred might be…

And Selina asked Bruce why he cared so much about Alfred. He could understand why she was saying that, really. For her Alfred was just a butler, who was cleaning, cooking and taking care of the schedule being carried off. She probably thought that Bruce, being spoiled brat, living in a manor, would see Alfred the same as other rich kids – as just a servant. Spoiled brats didn't care for their servants.

But Alfred wasn't a servant. He was working with Waynes since Bruce remembered, always taking care of the house and its inhabitants. And that night when Bruce's parents were murdered; when Bruce was talking with detective Gordon, trying not to look at the black covers hiding the dead bodies of his mother and father, the familiar car arrived at the scene of the crime and a familiar person came out of it. The moment he saw his butler, the boy quickly ran to him and embraced him tightly. The presence of Alfred meant that Bruce won't be all alone as he thought only few seconds ago. And for the next weeks Alfred tried really hard to take care of his young master – he was not only doing his usual chores, but also training him, giving advices, worrying sick for boy's health, protecting him from harm. He even was helping Bruce with his investigation from time to time. In a really short time Alfred became something more than just a butler; he became the only family member Bruce had now.

So it was quite understandable that the thought of losing Alfred was making Bruce so distraught.

And that thought disappeared completely when Alfred came at Bruce's aid. Seeing the butler holding a gun was enough for the assassin to retreat, apparently. Nevertheless, Bruce was relieved. Alfred was safe and sound. He wasn't hurt or anything. He seemed to be perfectly fine…

Or so Bruce thought. After all, when he asked Alfred about how he's doing, the butler only said:

"You really scared me, master Bruce. If you'd die… Who employs butlers anymore?"

At that moment Bruce was too happy to notice the oddity of this sudden change of subject; to notice that Alfred actually dismissed his question. But this fact came back to Bruce later, when the boy realized something very important…

The way home was spent in silence. Neither Bruce, nor Alfred had anything to say. They were just glad that everything was over. After returning to Wayne Manor, they both changed their clothes. Alfred started to make supper, while Bruce sat in the living room. The house was still a bit messy after the fight, but Bruce was too exhausted after this eventful day to bother. The boy seized the room with lazy eyes… and then he saw something odd on the table. It was a gauze. Moreover – a used gauze with red stain. Bruce blinked and slowly leaned towards the table to examine the unusual finding. His brain quickly made few connections. Before going home, Bruce and Alfred met with detective Gordon's partner. Alfred explained that detective Bullock was helping him with the assassins and that detective Gordon was also doing something with this case, but in different part of the town.

There were three explanations as to why the gauze was here. One – one of the assassins was hurt during fight with Alfred and decided to fix their wounds in Wayne Manor's living room. But this was very unlikely, because they would rather try not to leave the blood stains that could later serve as an evidence (unless, of course, the injury was serious and the assassin couldn't be moved to other place, but then there would be a lot more blood around). Two – Alfred got hurt and decided to quickly fix his wound before going any further. And three – Alfred got hurt and called detective Gordon, detective Gordon, on the other hand, brought paramedics with him, just in case. Bruce decided that the third theory was the most probable. Of course, the theory that said paramedics would be taking care of one of the assassins was equally as good, but Bruce somehow couldn't get out of his head that the blood on the gauze belonged to Alfred.

Bruce was holding the cloth in his hand, observing the all too familiar redness. And suddenly the thought that haunted him this whole day, returned. Alfred was wounded after the fight with assassins. Well, it was inevitable, after all, he was one against at least three of them. But what kind of wound he got? Was it just a little cut? Or maybe, something more serious? And did he received a proper medical care?

However, Bruce's train of thought had been disturbed.

"I've made you a sandwich, master Bruce!"

Hearing Alfred's voice, Bruce quickly put the gauze into his pocket and sank in the coach.

"Cheese and beef. Just the way you like it." Alfred entered the living room, holding a silver tray with food.

He acted like his usual, proper self. He put the tray in front of Bruce and straightened himself as always. His face had the same kind expression as every other day. Obviously, Alfred tried to act like the whole incident with assassins never happened and this was just another evening in Wayne Manor. Bruce observed him for a few seconds and one thought crossed his mind: Alfred was a tough man.

Hardly letting himself show his emotions… No, scratch that. He was showing his emotions fairly often. There were times when Bruce could read them from his butler's face and tone of voice, if the kid was examining it with enough attention. The thing is – he wasn't good in _articulating_ his feelings… Actually it wasn't entirely true either, because Alfred was telling Bruce once in a while that he was worried about him… But other than that, he had problems with telling the boy how he felt, especially outside the Wayne Manor. It was weird, because Alfred encouraged Bruce to tell him about his nightmares, so he believed (in some way) that it was good to express negative emotions. But he himself was never speaking about his feelings. Bruce guessed that it might be some adult thing. A little boy was allowed to cry (maybe not in public, but still) and tell other people that he's sad, worried or scared. He could even confess to someone that he cares for them. But a man… a man should be a rock. He should not show the sign of weakness, nor say some sappy confessions. His actions should speak for him, not his words. The real man should also never admit that he's in pain.

"Please, eat, master Bruce." Alfred's voice took the boy out of his gloomy thoughts. "If is it because you're worried about miss Selina, remember that she can take care of…"

"Alfred," Bruce cut in. "can I ask you something?"

For a moment Alfred was silent, probably wondering what Bruce wanted to ask about and if it's gonna be a troublesome question. Finally, after few seconds of thinking, the butler smiled softly and replied:

"Sure, master Bruce. You can ask me anything."

His young employer needed a moment to find the best way to articulate his question, before he finally began:

"I've asked you earlier, how are you. And you didn't tell me."

Alfred looked surprised by this statement, but then he only raised his eyebrows.

"I don't remember, master Bruce."

But Bruce knew that Alfred remembered perfectly. He just wanted to dismiss it, as earlier.

"It was when that assassin escaped." Nevertheless, Bruce decided to 'remind' Alfred about the event. "You asked me if everything was alright. I told you I was fine and then I asked you in return, how are you. And you only said that I scared you."

"Well, you did, master Bruce. You're pulling very dangerous stunts and that woman nearly killed you…"

"Are you hurt, Alfred?" The boy cut in again.

He did it so abruptly that for a few seconds Alfred was just standing with open mouth, speechless. However, he quickly regained his composure, cleared his throat and said:

"I assure you, master Bruce, that I'm fine."

The boy took a deep breath and looked at the man with expression of worry. This, on the other hand, got Alfred worried.

"Please, sit down." Bruce spoke. "I have something to discuss with you."

The butler didn't say anything, but did as he was asked. Bruce could read concern on his face. The boy looked down, before turning his gaze back on his guardian. What he was going to say, was already hard to say for a kid like him. And he wasn't sure of Alfred's reaction.

"When I was on the run, I was worried about you." Bruce began. "I left you here with all those assassins and I wasn't sure if you…"

"I can take care of myself, master Bruce." This time it was Alfred, who cut in. He smiled to the boy with soft smile. "I was in the marines, remember?"

"I know." Bruce almost whispered these words. Nevertheless in the quietness of the evening, it was clearly hearable. "I kept telling myself this… but I was still worried."

"Well," Alfred started to wriggle in his place. "I'm flattered by your concern, master Bruce, but as you can see, I'm alright."

Without further ado Bruce pulled out the gauze from his pocket and put it on the table. Alfred was observing it with sad eyes, before he looked again at the boy on the couch.

"Please, don't lie to me, Alfred. If you're injured, I can give you time to recover."

"It's just a flesh wound, master Bruce." The butler said quietly. "I've got worse injuries in my military days."

Bruce wasn't convinced. But at least this time Alfred stopped saying that he wasn't hurt.

"Where is it? Can you show me?"

"I would prefer not, master Bruce."

"Why?"

"Because there's nothing to show. It's just a scratch."

"Is it aching you?"

Before he answered that question, Alfred's eyes gazed at the gauze, before they focused on the boy's face.

"A bit, yes. But I can live with that."

"Can you promise me one thing, Alfred?"

"What kind of thing?"

"Can you promise me that if you ever get seriously hurt or sick, you will tell me? So I could try to help you?"

Alfred was silent for a moment. He straightened himself in his seat and with serious expression said:

"Look, master Bruce, I'm the one who's supposed to be taking care of you, not the other way around."

Bruce wanted to tell him about the feeling of dread he felt, when he thought that Alfred might be dead or injured; he wanted to tell him that after the death of his parents, Alfred was the closest thing to a family to him; and he wanted to tell him that he would do anything to help him. However, the boy had hard time to express all of this. So he had to find other words, more suited for a tough man like Alfred to hear. He finally found the right ones.

"But someone _should_ take care for you."

Alfred only smiled.

"I guess, someone should. But I still can do it myself, anyway." He said and then suddenly stood up. "Now, excuse me, master Bruce, but I have a lot to do. The whole house is in horrible state."

For a few seconds Bruce was observing Alfred directing towards the door, but before the butler even entered the hallway, his young master replied:

"We can do it tomorrow. You should get some rest."

Alfred looked at him with surprise, then smiled:

"You should get it too, master Bruce. But, knowing you, you won't."

And then he left Bruce alone in the living room. The boy looked one last time at the gauze. Maybe the blood on it didn't belonged to Alfred's, nevertheless, Bruce was absolutely sure that he wanted to keep him safe more than ever.


	2. Hidden wounds

**I decided to make it a multi-chapter. There are few things I want to explore in this this fic.**

**Also I decided to add Gordon to the mix XD.**

**Hidden wounds**

This night would be actually fairly pleasant, if it wasn't for the fact that Bruce had too much to occupy his mind with. He already included the assassins to his board (after all they've come to kill Selina, who was a witness in murder of his parents), and browsed through some of files, nevertheless, somehow he just couldn't focus on their content. This whole day, filled with constant running, hiding and peril hanging above him made the boy thinking about things he had seen and was told about.

Obviously, he was also thinking about Alfred and his wound. Bruce wondered, how serious it was and how much it ached. Actually, when Bruce was reflecting about the rest of this insane day, he could recall noticing Alfred flinching in pain once or twice, during his chores.

Later, when the boy decided to take a night walk through the house, he found a white shirt in the trash. Realizing there was no sign of Alfred in the corridor, Bruce took the shirt out and examined it. The torn and bloodstained left sleeve was enough to indicate what happened. That's how Bruce Wayne discovered the location of Alfred's injury. Because he wasn't doubting that it was his butler's shirt, it even smelled like him (it really was saying something about Alfred's choice in cologne). Further examination showed that the man was shot. The hole in the shirt was just too similar to the one in Bruce's parents' chests. Sure, there were some differences, but still the similarities were too big to confuse it with, say, a stabbing.

After few minutes of looking at the cloth and the big, red stain, contrasting with the whiteness of material, Bruce put it back in the trash and moved along. Another hour passed and he still couldn't sleep. He did, however, knew that Alfred decided to go sleep. They've met in the hallway and the butler informed his master about his plans.

"I can't believe that you're not sleepy, master Bruce. After what happened, you should be more exhausted than I."

"Maybe it's the rush of adrenaline." Bruce prompted. His expression softened, when he said: "I hope you will have a good night sleep, Alfred."

The butler for a moment was just staring at his charge. His eyes were sad, but few seconds later, he just smiled to Bruce and replied:

"Thank you. Good night to you too." He turned toward the direction of his bedroom, but then looked once again at Bruce. "And don't do anything reckless."

"I won't. I promise."

The boy really meant it, nevertheless he received one last stern glance, before Alfred finally went to his bedroom. Bruce observed as his guardian was going down the hallway, turned right and entered his room. For a moment the kid actually wanted to go there and check on his butler, but he knew that even if he'd be very quiet, Alfred will notice his presence and tell him to go to sleep or something. So Bruce decided to turn back and check once again the files he was browsing earlier.

* * *

><p>Alfred sat on his bed. The place where he was shot was aching him more than when he actually received it. Earlier the pain was pushed aside, because of the rush of the adrenaline and Alfred's firm conviction that finding master Bruce was a priority. He had time to focus more on his wound only when the paramedic was fixing it; and when everything was finally over – when he and master Bruce reunited and when they went back home. The adrenaline was slowly wearing out and the butler was more and more aware of the gunshot he received.<p>

This whole conversation with master Bruce also reminded the man about it. To be fair, there was something immensely touching and sweet about the fact that kid was worried about him. It's good to know that master Bruce actually cared for his butler; it's good to know that during this whole adventure he might have been equally as concerned for Alfred, as Alfred was for him. The old man smiled to his thoughts.

But then he saddened. His right hand reached to the left arm and touched the wound. It really was nothing, compared to his other wounds in the past… However, it wasn't his first gunshot wound and for the moment Alfred Pennyworth was reminiscenting about his military past. He had seen death and misery in every shape or form. He also experienced it one way or another – either watching his comrades die or being close to death himself. For some people it would be too much for one lifetime.

Maybe that was why Alfred decided that after working his time in military, he will become a butler. A regular butler didn't have to put up with constant danger, didn't have to watch violent deaths. The job of the butler required good organization and cleaning skills, nothing connected with violence or fighting. Just a peaceful job, good for retirement. Or so Alfred thought through all those years of taking care of Wayne Manor and watching as the life of Wayne family was going.

Then the murder of his employers happened. A murder that played right in front of their eleven year old son, scarring him for life. And Alfred was reminded that death and violence weren't just the domain of war, but were happening every day on the streets of Gotham. From now on the Wayne Manor was a cheerless place, shadowed by the tragedy that fell upon its last, young owner.

And today… today Alfred actually had to fight. He was running, he was firing a gun, he was fencing with people who invaded his home and tried to harm one of the people living there (temporarily, but that was beside the point). He felt like he was on the war again. The amount of adrenaline that went through his veins couldn't compare to anything else that ever happened since Alfred took the job of Waynes' butler. It was both refreshing and terrifying, all things considered. At one hand, he sort of missed the action in his life, on the other – he feared that master Bruce, the defenseless child, the last of Wayne's line and the closest person to a son Alfred ever had, could be not only hurt, but also dead. That was the main difference between this event and war: this time it wasn't the borders or the future of motherland at stake, but two (relatively) innocent children. But wasn't it also a domain of war – that the children were suffering?

Alfred changed into pajamas and went to his bed. He was aware that this night he will be dreaming of battlefields and dying brothers in arms.

* * *

><p>Later, when Bruce <em>still<em> couldn't sleep, but was aware that Alfred probably was sleeping like a log, he decided it was a good moment to check on his butler. So the boy tiptoed to Alfred's bedroom and neared his ear to the door. For the first few seconds there was nothing, but Bruce started to listen closely and soon he heard a moan. Then came the sound of cracking wood, indicating that Alfred changed his sleeping position, probably on the other side. After another couple of seconds came another cracking – Alfred changed position once again. Suddenly Bruce realized also something else – Alfred's breath was erratic, like he had a hard time to breathe.

And then came the scream. Not very loud one, but loud enough to make a boy standing at the door, take two steps back. If it wasn't clear to him before, it became clear now – Alfred had a bad dream. Was it about the assassins? Or something else? Bruce started eavesdropping again.

"Bloody hell." Alfred cursed quietly.

Another crack. But this time Bruce heard also a footsteps, the sound of cupboard being opened and finally the sound of two glass things put on the wooden table. Listening to some liquid being poured, the boy realized that Alfred had his own alcohol in his bedroom. A moment later a sound of content entered butler's mouth and he said:

"That's the stuff."

Bruce once asked his father why some people get addicted to drugs and alcohol, even though they know it's bad for them. Thomas Wayne then explained to him that both of those things were making everything look better or at least less sorrowful than it really was; and that alcohol was numbing all the pain and misery these people felt every day of their lives.

Alfred wasn't an alcoholic. He was professional and would never allow himself to get drunk, when there was so much things to do. But right now, after waking up from a nightmare, he tried to numb himself. Bruce actually felt sorry for him in that moment. There was so many things he didn't know about a man, who was taking care of him. Alfred had his own nightmares, his own demons he had to fight every day.

Sound of pouring once again. This time Bruce was able to hear Alfred gulping, while drinking the liquor. But right after that the man stood up and put it back in cupboard, apparently deciding he had enough alcohol for one night. For a moment Bruce thought that Alfred will take the glass to the kitchen, but the sound of cracking indicated that the man went back to bed.

All of it happened in the darkness. Alfred didn't even bother to light his own room. Maybe it was for the best. After all, the shadow at the downside of the doorframe could have revealed to the butler that he has an uninvited guest eavesdropping him. Nevertheless, Bruce's observations made him want to do something for Alfred, help him somehow. But the boy knew he probably wasn't able to do that. Alfred was too tough to open to him. He couldn't even admit that he was worried about Bruce earlier that day! No, if Alfred was going to open to someone, it had to be someone with similar experiences as him, someone the butler would consider equal. Not in a status way, but in a more honorable and "manly" way.

Bruce smiled, when a sudden idea popped in his head. He knew someone like that and he could try to arrange the meeting. The more he was thinking about it, the more excited he was getting. He wanted to talk with the man, but he decided that the hour is too late (or maybe even too early), so the boy had to wait 'til the more human time of the day.

Bruce finally went to his bedroom, but he didn't fall asleep at least to four o'clock. Alfred let him sleep 'til noon and even brought some late lunch. When the butler left to wash the dishes, his young master went to the living room and made a call.

* * *

><p>Gordon's phone rang just when he and Harvey Dent were waiting at the mayor's office to talk with Aubrey James about what happened with Lovecraft. The detective was surprised to see that the caller ID was Wayne Manor. Was something wrong? Maybe Alfred wanted him to once again talk some sense into Bruce Wayne. Either way, Gordon picked up.<p>

"Hello? Detective James Gordon's speaking."

"Greetings, detective."

On the other side of the line wasn't the raspy voice of Wayne Manor's butler, but the high, boyish voice of none other than Bruce Wayne himself. Gordon found it strange enough to be suspicious.

"Bruce? Is everything alright?"

Harvey Dent raised his eyebrows and looked at the policeman. Gordon ignored him.

"With me, yes. I'm fine. Thank you for your concern." The boy started. Gordon could hear a 'but' hanging in the air. However, instead of saying it right away, the kid asked: "Detective, is it true that you fought in a war?"

This time it was Gordon's turn to rise his eyebrows with surprise.

"Yes, that's true. Why do you ask?"

"Pardon me, if I will sound nosy, but have you ever got wounded on the battlefield?"

For a moment the detective didn't know what to say. Why this kid had to be so weird? Why he needed to know if Gordon was wounded in the war or not? Well, there was one way to find out.

"Well," Gordon began slowly. "Couple… of times. Why do you ask, Bruce?"

He heard Bruce taking a deep breath on the other side of the line, before explaining:

"I have a favor to ask, detective. I'm sorry, if I interrupt you in anything…" Another deep breath and then: "but I think you're the only one I know would help me with this delicate matter."

Jim Gordon was intrigued and, at the same time, concerned. What was the delicate matter Bruce Wayne was talking about? And what was exactly Gordon needed for?

"Tell me all about it and I will see what can I do." He looked at the clock and felt the urge to add 'But, please, summarize it somehow, because I have to meet with someone soon.', however, he resisted this urge.

"You see, detective Gordon, I'm worried about Alfred…"

The boy proceeded with explaining that his butler was wounded during the attack of the assassins and Bruce suspected that Alfred was hiding few things that were saddening him. Well, Gordon knew about the wound, because when he arrived at Wayne Manor with police and paramedics, he actually saw the gunshot wound on Alfred's left arm… And he suspected that the old man was in some kind of military organization back in his days and was hiding some secrets from his young master. Nevertheless, Bruce wanted Gordon to come to Wayne Manor under some kind of excuse; have a talk with Alfred and maybe make him confess if something was aching him, physically or emotionally. Since they both were soldiers once and could find a common language that way.

"So can I have your help, detective? I know I'm asking for much, but I don't know anyone more suitable for that task than you."

Gordon was contemplating it for a moment. Well, it was fairly unusual thing to ask a policeman, especially coming from a little boy (a really weird and kind of disturbing, but still a little boy), however…

The door to mayor's office was opened and Aubrey James gave both of his guests a meaningful look.

"Okay, Bruce, I will come." The policeman said with hurry. "But now I have a meeting, so I will call you later."

"I understand, detective. See you soon."

The boy disconnected and Gordon, alongside with Dent, directed towards mayor's office.

* * *

><p>When Gordon arrived that evening at Wayne Manor, he didn't have to worry about the excuse, because the reality gave him a very valid reason (besides talking some sense into Waynes' butler) to visit this place. Bruce would never forgive him, if Gordon didn't inform him about such important fact after all the three of them have been through.<p>

So when the detective (should he still call himself a detective?) was led by Alfred to the living room and sat on the couch in front of Bruce Wayne and his butler, he had a hard time to find the right words. After couple of seconds that clearly made the boy nervous and even a bit impatient, Gordon finally spoke:

"I've come here to tell you something. I was transferred."

"Transferred?" Bruce raised his eyebrows.

"Yes, transferred. I won't be working in homicide."

"So where are you going to work now, detective?" Alfred was the first to ask this question.

Gordon took a deep breath.

"I will be a guard in Arkham Asylum."

Obviously, it wasn't something the boy wanted to hear right now. Probably he thought for a moment that it was just some lie, the false excuse for Gordon to be here and to talk with Alfred as he was asked by Bruce. However, the sorrowful look on the man's face had to make the kid realize that it was indeed a truth.

"This whole city is rotten." Alfred broke the silence with wry expression. Both Bruce and Gordon looked at him. "Getting rid off of its most honorable men like they were just a trash…"

Gordon couldn't help but feel a bit fluttered by the fact that Alfred called him a honorable man, nevertheless, he looked at the boy in front of him and said:

"I'm so sorry, Bruce."

"Don't be." Bruce gave him a small smile. "It's not your fault."

The kid obviously wanted to be nice, but Gordon knew it was his fault, at least to some extent. How he was going to solve the case of Wayne Murder, while working in Arkham Asylum and having no access to case files? In addition, Selina Kyle was still on the run and who knows if there were another assassins sent after her.

"Trust me, detective," Alfred spoke once again. "it's just a small fall. You will get on your feet one way or another."

"How do you know?" Gordon asked a bit ironically.

"Because you're made of steel, detective. You need a lot more than this to break a steel." The butler said those words calmly, but there was some uplifting power in them.

Gordon looked at Bruce, who turned his gaze on the floor. The (now former) policeman almost knew what the boy was thinking right now. He probably thought that in this situation expecting from Gordon to talk with Alfred was insensitive. But Gordon still wanted to do the boy this favor. Who knows? Maybe something good will come from it.

"Bruce…" Gordon spoke, turning the boy's attention on himself. He smiled to the kid, before getting serious again and adding: "I have something to discuss with Alfred."

Gordon could have sworn that for a moment Bruce was going to smile, but the boy suddenly coughed and stood up.

"Yes, of course. I will be in my room."

When he left, both adults looked at each other. Gordon asked Alfred to sit up, what the butler did with a bit of uneasiness. For a moment the former policeman didn't know how to start, but soon he found the right words.

"So, Alfred, is your left arm alright?"


	3. Wounds that never heal

**This time I added some high brow reference.**

**Please, leave comments.**

**Oh, and would you like a story about Bruce Wayne being kidnapped?**

**Wounds that never heal**

For a moment Alfred was observing Gordon with surprise, but then he smiled wryly to his own thoughts (his smile, on the other hand, didn't make Gordon happy). He began to understand everything.

"Oh, I see…" Alfred's smile turned into smirk and the man crossed his arms. "Tell me, detective: was it master Bruce's idea?"

"Well, yes, it was." Apparently the former detective decided that there was no use in lying. He looked at the butler with concern and added: "Bruce is worried about you."

"Yes, I know, but why he sends you, detective?"

"It seems that we were both soldiers once." Gordon's eyes saddened. "Bruce thinks that since you're a veteran, you can open up to another veteran. You know, because nobody understands soldier unless they went through the same hell like him. It's actually pretty clever, don't you think?" He added with a smirk.

Alfred returned the smile.

"Yes, yes indeed."

He gave a soft sigh and for a moment watched the floor. When he finally raised his gaze and his eyes met with Gordon's, Alfred's face was sad and tired. The policeman couldn't resist the impression that the butler suddenly got about twenty years older. Maybe it was a bad light in the living room, maybe Alfred's expression, nevertheless, Gordon found himself speechless, lost in the other man's wrinkled and worn-out eyes.

Alfred saw the same in Gordon's eyes; the same sadness, tiredness and an illusion of abrupt aging. Maybe the times spent in law enforcement were also the part of this of image. Who knows how much more deaths detective James Gordon was encountering during his (by far) really short career.

"Is this thing about transfer a truth?" Alfred asked suddenly.

"Unfortunately, yes." Gordon replied quietly.

This was all so wrong. A young man who went through the hell of war and witnessed the worst about human nature even after he came back home, was going to be a guard at the asylum for criminals, where he will probably see even more horrors.

But there was also something in those eyes… Something Alfred suspected for a quite some time. James Gordon was a man of steel. Steel determination, steel nerves, steel morals. But there was also something else. A hidden fury buried under the layers of self-control and calmness.

The butler leaned comfortably on the armchair.

"Tell me, detective, what was the most horrible thing you have seen on the war?"

Gordon was taken aback by this question, nevertheless, he was thinking about the answer for a moment. He didn't like the idea of remembering all the horrors of war he witnessed… But, on the other hand, maybe it will make the old man open up and this was the original reason for coming here, right?

The more he was reflecting about his military past, the harder answering the question was becoming. Every memory seemed to be more awful than the other, although, some of them were horrible because they were happening to civilians, others – because they were happening to his friends.

"I've seen a lot of horrible things." He finally said. "I don't think I can decide which was the worst of them all."

"Some people are able to do it." Alfred smiled, but his eyes were sad. "Choose the most horrid and shocking thing they encountered in the war. Sometimes the memories are melting with each other into one big nightmare."

Gordon only nodded. He kind of understood what the old man was talking about.

"It must have been hard for you to work in police department. Seeing what humanity can do during times of peace."

Oh, yes. During his short career as a policeman, Gordon saw what humanity was capable of in this corrupted and rotten city. A pair that was kidnapping homeless children, a man with mental illness forced to build bombs because his capturers were threatening the life of his brother; a thug killing married couple in front of their small son… To say the few.

Gordon looked at Alfred and smiled with melancholy.

"It seemed to be so natural… Coming from military to the police. I wanted to use my experience to fight crime." He stopped smiling. His gaze turned on the fireplace, which currently had no fire inside. After a short moment of silence, he looked once again on the butler and added with a quiet voice: "Everyone knows that world is a terrifying and cruel place, but when you actually see it on your own eyes, it's sometimes so overwhelming, you lose your will to live."

"And you not only have to live, but also bring children on this terrifying and cruel world." Alfred's voice was quiet, on the edge of a whisper. "Children shouldn't find out about the awfulness of the place, they're live in. At least not, when they are still children." He sighed heavily and fixed his eyes on Gordon. "And yet some of them do."

Gordon knew who Alfred was talking about. It was hard not to get the right idea. But these words were universal enough to apply to Selina Kyle, Ivy Pepper and millions of children Gordon have and haven't met in his life. To some extent it also applied to him.

"Detective, are you familiar with Arthurian legends?" Alfred asked out of the blue.

"With some of it." Gordon replied almost immediately. "With those well-known parts."

"How about the Fisher King?" The butler inquired further.

Maybe Alfred wanted to talk about Arthurian legends, because he didn't want to talk about war. That seemed to be understandable, really. Gordon decided to go along.

"No, I don't know this story."

"Really?" Alfred raised his eyebrows. "It's the part about the searching of Holy Grail. In fact, this is where the Holy Grail was all along." His expression changed into more sincere, as he gave a soft sigh and looked at Gordon. "The Fisher King was a last guardian of the Grail and the spear that wounded Christ during crucifixion. Once a knight attacked the King with said spear. He managed to injure him in the leg. The wound, caused by the holy artifact, could not heal itself, and so the Fisher King was unable to walk and suffered for years. His kingdom suffered along with him, turning into a Waste Land. It was said that both the kingdom and the Fisher King will be healed only by the most noble of the knights. But although many knights were coming to heal Fisher King, no one succeeded."

Suddenly Gordon understood what point Alfred tried to get across.

"Some people forget that wounds here," The old man pointed at his forehead. "are often more serious than anywhere else."

Probably some doctors would argue with that statement, but Gordon knew what the butler tried to say. Once again, he could easily understand that Alfred was saying those words, thinking about his young charge. But maybe he was also talking about himself.

"These," Alfred pointed his forehead once again. "these are the wounds that never heal, detective. Don't you think?"

There was some truth in his words, Gordon had to admit it. However…

He looked at the butler.

"Was it really no knight noble enough to heal the Fisher King? Arthur had a big court, after all. There must have been at least one man good enough to lift the curse."

Alfred smiled bitterly.

"There was three, but the one, who actually did it, was Fisher King's own grandson, sir Galahad."

This time it was Gordon's turn to smile.

"See? It's not that bad."

"Well then," The butler looked very sad and very tired, all of sudden. "I guess, I'm not noble enough."

Once again, the reference to Bruce. This time, however, it was even more depressing, because this one sentence contained a resignation and helplessness, Alfred must have felt sometimes. He wanted so hard to help his charge, but it wasn't good enough. Maybe couple of months earlier, Gordon would criticize Alfred for not sending the boy on therapy, but now, after the story with Arkham and Spirit of the Goat, he kind of understood the man. There was not many people in Gotham that could be trusted, especially with such precious things like children.

Still, the amount of energy and care Alfred was putting in attempts in helping Bruce had to be enormous, even with limitations of Thomas Wayne's last will. So the feeling that it all might be in vain, must have been heartbreaking to the butler, who wanted nothing more than keep his charge safe and mentally healthy. It was hard not to be a defeatist after all of this.

Gordon sat comfortably on his seat and looked at Alfred.

"Sometimes you need multiple Galahads." The former policeman smiled softly. "To heal such wound, you need a support of various people, so one Galahad is just not enough. I dare to say that even the Fisher King has to be his own Galahad."

"I guess, you're right, detective."

For a moment Alfred was just observing Gordon with melancholic look. Then, all of sudden, he raised from the armchair and straightened up.

"Still," He gave his guest a look of resignation. "I don't think, you can play that role. At least, not to me. I appreciate that you've come here, fulfilling master Bruce's request… but there is something you both didn't put into consideration."

"And what is that?" Gordon asked wryly.

"It's the simple fact that you and me were fighting in different wars; with different enemies, in different places and with a usage of different weapons. Therefore, although, some of our experiences might be more universal, in the end, we cannot fully understand the horrors we've encountered."

"You think so, Alfred?" Gordon stood up too, just to be on the butler's eye level. "Because I think that, in the end, war is always the same."

"Well then, let's compare your time in military with your war on crime, detective. You'll quickly realize that the difference is bigger than you originally thought."

Gordon didn't know what to reply to that statement. Not only because, when he was thinking about a reply, he quickly realized that Alfred had some point, but also because the butler came to the door and opened it.

"Excuse me, but I have a lot of work to do and cannot talk with you any longer, detective."

"I understand." Gordon said.

They both directed towards the main entrance. In their way to the door the former policeman saw Bruce standing on the stairs and observing both men with interest, even – concern. The boy probably wondered how the whole conversation went and if Gordon managed to help Alfred in any way. Gordon only looked at the kid and then turned his gaze on the butler, who tried to remain professional. And when the old man opened the main door, the former policeman gave him one last look and said:

"If you ever want to talk, you know my number."

"I don't think you and I will have a time to talk, detective." Alfred replied. "Especially with your new job."

"Who knows," Gordon smiled to him. "maybe I will be working there part time. See you soon, Alfred."

"Good night, detective."

Gordon turned his back and started to walk towards his car, while Alfred closed the door behind him. Then he directed towards the living room, only to notice Bruce on the stairs and stop. For couple of seconds they were both looking at each other in silence. The boy could easily see the expression of consternation on his guardian's face. Alfred took a deep breath and said:

"What would you like for supper, master Bruce?"

Once again, he returned to his usual proper self. Bruce wondered if it was because he was sick of subject of wounds and tried to distract his young master from asking questions, or maybe he really thought that boy might be hungry right now.

Either way, Bruce decided that for now Alfred should take a rest, besides, the boy had to think few things through. Maybe even look at few things, before making another move.

And so Bruce smiled to his butler and said:

"A tuna sandwich would be nice."

* * *

><p>This time, while doing his usual work, Bruce wasn't thinking about connections in Gotham, but about things he heard while eavesdropping the conversation between Alfred and detective Gordon. It started very promising, Bruce really thought that detective will manage to make Alfred more talkative about his pain… But then Alfred suddenly started to talk about Fisher King and closed himself again. In the end, Gordon wasn't considered by the butler to be the right person. Considering how this conversation went, it was due to detective's young age and the fact that they didn't fight in the same war. Personally, Bruce was finding this argument invalid, after all, war is a war. It leave the same scars to everyone… Well, mental scars, anyway.<p>

There was one thing the boy was coming back, on and on. The story about the Fisher King. Bruce himself, was sort of familiar with Arthurian legends, because he had read them when he was ten, but now he tried to remember as much as he could about this one legend. And, of course, about Galahad.

Galahad. The son of sir Lancelot and lady Elaine of Carboneck. The purest of knights. A knight so good that not even burdened with a mortal sin or fatal flaw. The only one, worthy enough to drink from Holy Grail. The only one good enough to sit next to king Arthur at the Round Table, on the _Siege Perilous_ – Dangerous Seat, reserved only for the greatest of men.

The only one noble enough to heal the Fisher King.

It was kind of symbolic, really. An old man with a wounds that didn't want to heal; and a noble knight that came to help him and failed. Maybe that metaphor had some weak points, because Wayne Manor was in perfectly good state, nevertheless, Bruce couldn't resist the impression that in some strange way Alfred _was_ a Fisher King and needed the help of his Galahad to move on. But who should be this Galahad? Who would be pure, good and noble enough to play this role? Especially when the most noble person Bruce knew, couldn't help?

It was such a stupid thought. They were living in real world, after all, not a story in medieval book. Bruce was aware that there was no easy way to help someone, who experienced something as horrible as war. One person could not be the sole remedy for that. There should be a lot of work and support of someone more knowledgeable than any of them were. One person, no matter how determined, was just not enough.

Bruce gave a soft sigh. But there must be someone, to whom Alfred would be ready to open up. Someone, who he would be able to find worthy.

There had to be a Galahad somewhere.


End file.
